


Grumpy Old Men

by Morgana



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 07:04:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana/pseuds/Morgana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean loves his dad. And Bobby. But they're not exactly rays of sunshine</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grumpy Old Men

Dean loved his father. He really did. And he loved Bobby, too. But he had to admit that Sammy was right - they were a couple of cranky old coots.  
  
It was the hunter lifestyle. Something about it turned ordinary men into grumps (and drunks, more often than not, but Dean wasn't about to face that. Not yet, and if he had his way, not ever.) Dad always said it was about staying strong, that whatever didn't kill them just made them stronger, but from Dean's perspective, what didn't kill hunters just turned them old and cranky before their time.  
  
Like right now. Dean couldn't see that it really mattered all that much if it was a wraith they'd bagged down in Jackson or if it was something else. The thing was dead, and that was what really mattered, right? But Bobby insisted that it wasn't a wraith - something to do with the way the spines were attached or some such, and now he and Dad were arguing over it. Had been arguing over it for the past three days, actually.  
  
"You dumb jackass! Any hunter worth his salt can tell that that thing wasn't a wraith!" Bobby slammed the book he'd been looking at shut and shoved his chair back, stalking over to the bookshelf to get another one.  
  
Dad took a hit off his flask and glared at Bobby. "So what the hell was it, then? Cause it had spikes and it sure as hell screamed like a wraith when it was set on fire."  
  
"I don't know, but not a wraith," he snapped back. "They don't go that far south - they hate the heat."  
  
"The humidity, you mean," John shot back. "Cause they're all over the Southwest."  
  
Bobby yanked a book out of the bookcase and slammed it down on the desk. "Shut your damn mouth," he grumbled. "Which one of us has been doing this longer, huh?"  
  
"And which one of us is out on the hunt while the other one's sitting behind a desk going soft?" Ouch. Dean winced when he heard that. Dad must be angrier than usual, because that was pretty much going straight for the jugular.  
  
And it seemed Bobby agreed with him, because there was a long pause before he growled, "Fuck you, Winchester. You and your damn holier-than-thou hunting shit. You wanna insist you're right? Fine. But then don't come crying to me when something that ain't what you think it is rips your goddamn guts open."  
  
Dean had just enough time to hurry back to the kitchen and fling himself down into a chair at the kitchen table before Bobby came storming back into the room, muttering under his breath about goddamn stubborn jackasses who didn't know their asses from their elbows. Dean tried to sit there and look like he had no idea what he was talking about while Bobby chopped onions and diced tomatoes, all but throwing them in the stew pot.  
  
Dinner that night was a tense, silent affair. Dad and Bobby were very pointedly not speaking to each other, which left Sam to chatter nervously while Dean stared down at his plate and tried to pretend things hadn't gone to hell over a hunt. All the same, he wasn't surprised when Dad came upstairs after dinner and told them to pack their bags, that they were leaving in the morning.  
  
While he packed, he told himself that he wasn't ever going to fight like that with anybody. Not Dad, not Sam, not anyone. It wasn't worth it, and if that meant that he didn't get close to anyone, then he could live with that. Better to be alone than to hear himself say those kinds of things to someone he cared about.  
  
Fifteen years later, when he heard himself fling those awful words at Sam, he knew that Bobby was right. He really _was_ just like his father.


End file.
